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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784846">Paper Rings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans_blue8/pseuds/oceans_blue8'>oceans_blue8</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All fluff and no substance, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Las Vegas Wedding, Post-Season/Series 03, Smut, like we're just skipping to the part where they get too drunk and accidentally get married in vegas, this is a post-s3 fic but without any angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:35:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans_blue8/pseuds/oceans_blue8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eve, Villanelle, too much alcohol, and a 24-hour wedding chapel in Vegas. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. What Happens in Vegas...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I was listening to the song "Paper Rings" by Taylor Swift and thinking that the first verse fits Villaneve surprisingly well, and then this fic just kinda happened.<br/>This is probably gonna be pretty short (I'm thinking three chapters), but these things always manage to get away from me, so we'll see! I just wanted to write some fluffy Villaneve in honor of the beautiful moment that was the end of season three before the writers inevitably break our hearts with season four.<br/>Let me know what y'all think in the comments. :) Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been Villanelle’s idea to go to Las Vegas.</p>
<p>Eve had wrinkled up her nose and said, <em>“Vegas, really?” </em>but Villanelle had just nodded with that half-smirk on her lips that said, <em>I’ll make it up to you</em>, and really, who was Eve to argue with that? So they’d booked their tickets and made arrangements for the neighbor to look after their pet snake (Villanelle’s idea) and the potted plants on the window (Eve’s, although really Villanelle was the one who watered them when Eve inevitably forgot. She did not have much of a green thumb.). And then a week later, they’d been off, both of them dragging suitcases behind them—a large pink designer one for Villanelle, filled with far more outfits than V would have time to wear, and a smaller, more practical black carry-on for Eve. Villanelle is <em>definitely </em>the high maintenance one in this relationship. Luckily for her, Eve finds it more endearing than annoying. Most of the time, anyway.</p>
<p>They’re already tipsy by the time they step off the plane; Eve has decided to adopt a sort of <em>fuck-it </em>attitude about this whole thing, and anyway, everyone on their flight from New York had started drinking as soon as the plane left the tarmac. It makes it all the more shocking when the first blast of hot desert air hits them as they leave the air-conditioned sanctuary that is McCarran International Airport.</p>
<p>Eve giggles, feeling like a drunk bridesmaid—the last (and only) time she’d been to Vegas had been for the bachelorette party of an American friend from college, but that had been almost twenty years ago. And here she is now, flushed and clutching onto the arm of a woman several years her junior who just so happens to be her girlfriend. How do these things even <em>happen</em>? She knows she looks ridiculous, but she’s <em>just </em>buzzed enough not to care too much. Besides, this is Vegas, right? No one here has any right to judge.</p>
<p>They make out in the back seat of the cab on the way to the hotel like two horny teenagers. If the driver notices—which Eve is sure he does, because let’s be honest, they are <em>not </em>being subtle—he chooses to turn a blind eye. He clears his throat loudly when they arrive; Villanelle adopts a posh British accent and asks him if he’d be so kind as to help them with their bags. She accompanies her request with one of the dazzling fake smiles she always uses on hapless men, and Eve just bites her lip and tries not to laugh as the driver sees Villanelle’s face and immediately falls over himself to help them.</p>
<p>Eve somehow manages to keep her hands off Villanelle during the elevator ride—maybe that’s only due to the presence of an elderly couple chatting quietly as they ride up, up, up, but she still counts it as self-restraint—but she pounces on her as soon as they’re inside their suite. She has Villanelle on her back in the middle of the very soft, very fluffy king bed before the door even closes behind them with a soft <em>thump</em>. Villanelle doesn’t even have time to say a word before her shirt is up and over her head—Eve pays careful attention not to pop any buttons, because if there is one thing her girlfriend is particular about, it is her clothing—and then Eve has captured Villanelle’s mouth with her own again, and they’re both moaning.</p>
<p>“Not that I’m complaining,” Villanelle says when Eve has to stop to catch her breath, “but aren’t you kind of stealing my thunder here? It is very unfair of you, Eve.”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Eve says, and pins her wrists above her head. Villanelle doesn’t protest, just watches her with the sort of smirk that means she thinks she’s still in control even with Eve straddling her. Ordinarily, she’d be right, but this is Vegas, and Eve has already decided to make this a trip neither one of them will forget. Villanelle should have learned better by now than to underestimate her.</p>
<p>And <em>that’s </em>when she pulls out the handcuffs, which must genuinely take Villanelle by surprise because even her professional-assassin reflexes aren’t <em>quite </em>quick enough to prevent Eve from cuffing her right hand to the bedpost.</p>
<p>“I should take you to Vegas more often,” Eve hears her mumble as she leans down to kiss her again, feeling the hint of Villanelle’s smile against her lips.</p>
<p>♠ ♦ ♣ ♥</p>
<p>For the first twenty-four hours, they don’t leave their room.</p>
<p>It’s easy enough not to—the suite is expansive, and the hotel’s menu of room service items is enough to satisfy even Villanelle’s endless appetite. They watch movies, cuddle in the luxurious king bed. Eve reads a book and Villanelle does a crossword on her phone. (Eve is perpetually surprised that V has the patience for it, but she has to smile at the way the blonde always crows with pride when she figures out a particularly hard clue.) And, of course, the handcuffs come out to play a few more times.</p>
<p>They even take a soak in the jacuzzi, Villanelle messing around with the endless settings of the jets until Eve slaps her hand away because <em>god, you’re no better than a child! </em>That’s when V laughs and splashes Eve in the face, leaving her spluttering and reminded of that very first meeting back in the house she’d shared with Niko, when Villanelle had doused her with freezing water. Of all the awful ways Eve has been asked out, that one takes the cake. Although Eve supposes she wouldn’t have said yes if Villanelle had asked her to dinner the normal way.</p>
<p>Well, it’s high time Eve got her revenge for that particular episode. She sends a tidal wave of water at the blonde’s face, and then tackles her, trying to force her head underwater. Unfortunately, Villanelle knows all of Eve’s weaknesses, and unlike the former MI6 agent, she’s not afraid to fight dirty.</p>
<p>“Stop,” Eve gasps between fits of laughter as Villanelle manages to locate every ticklish part of her body, “that’s not fair!”</p>
<p>“You can always use the safe word, Eve,” Villanelle teases, waggling her eyebrows, but the whole effect is rather more silly than sexy. It’s not long before the two of them end up out of breath with laughter, Eve curled comfortably in Villanelle’s lap with the blonde’s arms around her.</p>
<p>Eve looks up at her girlfriend’s flushed cheeks and mussed hair. “You’re insufferable.”</p>
<p>“You love it,” Villanelle purrs, and Eve hates to admit that she really does.</p>
<p>It’s nice, being like this, just the two of them on neutral ground. Eve had been skeptical about this whole Vegas plan—she is really far too old for a place commonly called ‘Sin City,’ she’d thought—but as it turns out, this is exactly what they both need. They are happy with their life back in London, but some days it is hard to remember to move forward instead of looking back. Every street of that city holds some blood-soaked memory for one or both of them.</p>
<p>They relax in the hot water for a while longer before Villanelle decides she’s bored and that they need to do something <em>right now</em>. So they get dressed (V calls Eve’s outfit “dreadfully boring,” but then gives her a sweet kiss that manages to make up for it) and step outside the hotel room for the first time since they’d arrived, almost surprised to find that the outside world hasn’t ceased to exist.</p>
<p>“Remind me again why we chose to stay here?” Eve asks as they stroll hand in hand through the promenade of the Venetian. The arched ceiling above is painted like a pale blue sky studded with fluffy clouds, and the street is modeled after an Italian <em>strada</em>, complete with a faux canal. “You’ve already been to Italy. The <em>real </em>Italy, which is much more impressive. In fact, <em>we’ve </em>already been to Italy together.”</p>
<p><em>And we are never going back again</em>, she adds in her head. Time really does heal wounds—the faded scar just below Eve’s left shoulder blade is proof of that—and almost anything can be forgiven, but that doesn’t mean Eve will ever forget.</p>
<p>“How many times must I tell you I am sorry about Rome, Eve?” Villanelle heaves a dramatic sigh. Eve can see her pouting out of the corner of her eye, but she refuses to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. “And besides, if we are really playing this game, why don’t we take a trip to the Paris Hotel, hmm? We can reenact the time you <em>stabbed </em>me while we are at it.”</p>
<p>Eve’s head snaps to the side as she opens her mouth to say something, but then she catches Villanelle’s expression and turns back, exasperated. V’s eyes are dancing with mirth and there’s something supremely self-satisfied about the look on her face, as there always is when she’s taken it upon herself to wind up Eve. And it <em>works. </em>Somehow Eve falls for it every damn time.</p>
<p>She sighs. “Why do I even put up with you?”</p>
<p>“Because you love me?” Villanelle supplies helpfully, lifting their clasped hands to press a quick kiss to Eve’s knuckles. She looks around, eyes bright and alert. “You are right. The real Italy is much better.”</p>
<p>Eve laughs. “I could have told you that <em>before </em>we booked our tickets here.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but there is something charmingly fake and American about it, don’t you think?” Villanelle says in the sort of condescending tone that makes most people want to punch her pretty little face in. Occasionally Eve still feels that way, too, but she’s gotten better at controlling her violent impulses since the Paris incident. Well, at least around Villanelle.</p>
<p>Eve isn’t sure that “charming” is the word she’d use to describe their hotel, as she spots a stumbling woman with a garish pink <em>BRIDE TO BE </em>sash losing her breakfast over a nearby trashcan. It’s not even noon, for god’s sake. <em>No judging</em>, she reminds herself, remembering the state she’d been in when they’d checked into the hotel yesterday. <em>What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.</em></p>
<p>“Where are we going?” she asks Villanelle, who is marching her purposefully down the fake Italian streets.</p>
<p>“It is a surprise.”</p>
<p>“That does <em>not </em>make me feel better.” Villanelle does not have a very good track record with surprises. They are usually illegal (which Eve feels she cannot condone, even though she technically no longer works for the British government) or, if not against the law, then at least highly dangerous. And Eve really does not feel like spending this vacation hiding from the authorities <em>or </em>from whatever criminal organization her girlfriend has gotten herself mixed up with this time, which has ruined their last three vacations running.</p>
<p>“You just do not appreciate my surprises,” V states matter of factly. “This surprise is very… boring”—she wrinkles her nose, as if the very thought of it is unappealing to her—“in case that is what you are worried about.”</p>
<p>“Color me reassured,” Eve says dryly, although she gives Villanelle’s hand a loving squeeze while she’s at it.</p>
<p>They stop at one of the many jewelry stores that line the faux-cobblestoned streets of the Venetian. The sheer amount of diamonds glittering in the front window is enough to make Eve go slack-jawed; she wonders how much they’re worth, and then immediately regrets having that thought when she remembers exactly who is standing next to her. Villanelle may be a trained assassin, not a cat burglar, but Eve wouldn’t put it past her to make off with millions of dollars in precious jewelry from a casino shop. Oh, that <em>better </em>not be the surprise, or there will be hell to pay.</p>
<p>“Are you gonna tell me why we’re here?” Eve asks pointedly, turning to find Villanelle’s gaze fixed on her and analyzing her expression.</p>
<p>The assassin’s eyes glint in a way that has Eve regretting ever leaving the bedroom this morning. “We both know I am the one who makes more money, Eve. Let me spoil you.”</p>
<p>Eve still isn’t used to this. Niko had given her things, sure, but not the way Villanelle does. The first time Villanelle had bought her a gift, it had been a fancy dress for their three-month anniversary. (Eve had told her that “three months” and “anniversary” were mutually exclusive, but Villanelle would not take no for an answer.) It had made Eve uncomfortable, knowing that she couldn’t offer anything nearly so flashy in return. But to her surprise, Villanelle hadn’t cared. They’d had dinner at Eve’s flat that night—Eve had tried to make piroshki for V, but she’d failed miserably, so they’d ended up ordering in—and Eve had worn the dress. <em>It is more fun to see you out of it than in it</em>, Villanelle had said at the end of the evening with a smirk, the two of them lying tangled up together in Eve’s bed while the dress lay discarded on the floor.</p>
<p>They have never really discussed it, at least not formally, but since then they have come to a tacit agreement: Eve accepts the expensive gifts Villanelle gives her because she knows it makes Villanelle happy. In return, Eve does the sort of things no one has ever done for Villanelle before, the little things that make her feel loved—like buying her flowers, or folding her laundry and leaving a little love note atop the stack, or letting her bring home that snake from the pet store even though it gives Eve the heebie jeebies.</p>
<p>So Eve lets Villanelle take her by the elbow and guide her into the jewelry store. The amount of sparkle is almost overwhelming, as is the immediate cheer of the saleswoman who greets them with a smile that threatens to outshine the diamonds.</p>
<p>“Welcome to Sinclair Jewelers! What can I help you with today?”</p>
<p>Villanelle smiles indulgently, her hand warm against the small of Eve’s back. “I’m looking for a present for my girlfriend.”</p>
<p>“Did you want to look at anything in particular?”</p>
<p>“Let’s start with rings,” Villanelle says, and just like that, the woman is already gesturing to pieces of jewelry in glass cases, measuring Eve’s finger and pulling out a selection for her to try on.</p>
<p>Eve tries on what feels like dozens of rings, and then earrings and necklaces—gold and silver settings, diamond, ruby and emerald accents—and all the time Villanelle watches her. This part Eve is used to. Villanelle likes to be still and quiet and just <em>watch</em>, the way she probably had watched Eve in the days when they’d been no more than an assassin and an agent on opposite sides of a conflict. Eve had told Hugo once that she liked both parts—the watching Villanelle and the being watched by her—and that, at least, has not changed. Now, though, it is less like voyeurism and more like intimacy.</p>
<p>Eventually she settles on a strand of freshwater pearls in a grey-white shade. She loves the way each one is unique, unlike in a traditional pearl necklace; each pearl is shaped differently, and yet they fit perfectly together.</p>
<p>“Understated and classy,” the saleswoman comments as she places the necklace carefully in a hinged box and snaps the lid shut.</p>
<p>“That’s my Eve,” Villanelle says fondly, and Eve wonders when she started being okay with being <em>hers </em>so completely. Maybe it’s okay now because of how far they’ve come—this isn’t like Rome anymore. Villanelle belongs to Eve, too; they belong to themselves, and to each other equally.</p>
<p>They leave the store hand in hand.</p>
<p>♠ ♦ ♣ ♥</p>
<p>Eve spends the rest of the day by herself by the pool; Villanelle had wanted to go shopping, which is an activity Eve generally does not care for, and so they’d agreed that Eve could skip the shopping trip as long she agreed to watch Villanelle show off all her new clothes later. (<em>You will be sorry you missed me looking hot all day, </em>V had teased, and Eve had rolled her eyes and said she was sure she’d somehow manage to survive.)</p>
<p>It had been a relaxing few hours. Somehow, the days are always more relaxing when Villanelle is not around, although Eve would never trade their life together even if it meant all her days could be like this. She’s spent the first forty-odd years of her life being bored; meeting Villanelle has changed that entirely, for better or for worse.</p>
<p>When they meet up again that evening, Villanelle is already dressed. Eve walks through the door wrapped in a towel, but she freezes as soon as she catches sight of her girlfriend, who is pinning her hair back. She has a bobby pin in her mouth, but she smiles around it as soon as she catches sight of Eve.</p>
<p>“You look… nice.” Eve doesn’t really have the words for the effect Villanelle is having on her, standing there so confidently in a tailored dark blue tux. V is even wearing a bow tie, which Eve would normally find ridiculous, but somehow it works. She’s used to seeing Villanelle in power suits—they are one of her girlfriend’s go-to looks, after all—but this is really something else. If they didn’t have dinner reservations in less than an hour, Eve would waste no time in getting her out of that suit, because however good Villanelle looks in it, she’ll look better with it on the floor and Eve’s hands on her body instead. But she supposes that will have to wait until later tonight.</p>
<p>“Just <em>nice</em>?” V pulls the pin out of her mouth and uses it to arrange a strand of blonde hair into her updo. “That is all I get for looking this stunning? I must say, I am disappointed.”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Eve groans. She has a love-hate relationship with Villanelle’s cockiness; it is alternately very attractive or <em>very </em>annoying, depending on the mood Eve is in.</p>
<p>“Make me.” V’s tone gives new meaning to the nickname ‘Sin City.’</p>
<p>“I’m gonna go shower.”</p>
<p>Villanelle pouts. “You are no fun.”</p>
<p>“But you love me anyway!” Eve sings out as she sheds her towel and ducks into the bathroom, already looking forward to trying out the various settings on the shower head without Villanelle there to interfere and “accidentally” spray her in the face.</p>
<p>“Wait, Eve!”</p>
<p>Eve pokes her head around the corner of the bathroom door. “What?”</p>
<p>“Take this.” She presents Eve with a nondescript black box tied shut with a thin gold ribbon. “And wear the pearls.”</p>
<p>Eve opens the box and finds a beautiful dress that probably—scratch that, <em>definitely</em>—costs more than her month’s salary. It is silky and white, and when she pulls it out of the box, smooth waves of fabric tumble to the ground. The skirt is full and flowing, and the neckline dips to a low vee that shows off plenty of skin. It’s not something Eve would usually pick out for herself, but she’s learned by now to trust Villanelle’s judgement when it comes to clothing.</p>
<p>“You will look beautiful,” the blonde murmurs, looking at Eve with something like a besotted smile on her face.</p>
<p>“Don’t you go soft on me, V,” Eve teases, and sees something darken in Villanelle’s eyes. Before she knows it, she’s pinned against the bathroom counter, the fabric of the dress trapped between their warm bodies. Strong hands grasp her waist and lift her up until she is sitting atop the marble counter, leaning back against the cool surface of the mirror.</p>
<p>Villanelle’s lips are all over her body: pressing against the side of Eve’s neck, fluttering across her collarbones, just barely ghosting over her mouth. Her hands toy with the straps of Eve’s swimsuit, drawing them down over her shoulders, but Eve pulls away, panting.</p>
<p>“If I don’t shower now, we are going to be late.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” Villanelle says, and it’s oh-so tempting for Eve to give in, but she firmly pushes V away.</p>
<p>“You’ve been looking forward to this restaurant since we booked the trip.” She hops down off the counter, and Villanelle lets her. “Let me shower.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some company?”</p>
<p>Eve rolls her eyes. “<em>Shoo</em>.”</p>
<p>♠ ♦ ♣ ♥</p>
<p>When Eve emerges from the shower, she finds Villanelle with various outfits spread out across the entire bed, staring down as if deliberating between them. She’s still wearing the tailored blue pants, but now she only has a lacy black bra on top. Eve’s eyes flicker appreciatively over her body; in the first days of their relationship, every glance had been enough to send electricity shooting through her. She’d thought that would fade with time—after all, the honeymoon phase is always too good to be true—but here they are over a year later, and the magnetic pull in her stomach is still the same every time she looks at Villanelle. Eve doesn’t think she’s ever been so attracted to someone before.</p>
<p>“What happened to the tux?”</p>
<p>Villanelle frowns. “You said I looked <em>nice</em>.”</p>
<p>“Put it back on,” Eve murmurs.</p>
<p>“Oh, so it was better than nice?” Villanelle’s tone is so annoyingly arrogant that Eve almost doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of admitting just how gorgeous she’d looked in the suit, but her desire to see V wearing it again wins out.</p>
<p>“Yes, it was better than nice,” Eve admits, crossing the room to wrap her arms around Villanelle’s neck and step up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her lips. V dodges it at the last moment, and Eve ends up leaving a faint lipstick mark on her cheek instead. “You are <em>such </em>a dick, do you know that?”</p>
<p>Villanelle makes a face that tells Eve that yes, <em>of course </em>she knows, and she’s proud of it at that. But she’s a softie deep down—even if she’ll never admit it—and she can’t resist Eve for long. She kisses Eve gently, careful not to mess up her lipstick, and then pulls back to smile at her.</p>
<p>“How on earth are you planning on fitting all these clothes into your suitcase?” Eve asks, looking doubtfully at the various articles of clothing arrayed on the bed.</p>
<p>Villanelle just shrugs. “I can buy another suitcase.”</p>
<p>“<em>Villanelle. </em>You have <em>five </em>suitcases at home already.”</p>
<p>“I travel a lot.”</p>
<p>“No one needs five suitcases. Not even you.”</p>
<p>“Have I told you about the time I took a dismembered body through airport security in a suitcase?” Villanelle asks gleefully, with that glint in her eye that makes Eve wonder if she is being completely serious.</p>
<p>Eve is sure her expression is priceless. You’d think she’d be used to this sort of thing by now; with anyone else, this story would be far-fetched, but it’s simply a daily reality when you’re dating an assassin-for-hire. It is entirely probable for Villanelle to have smuggled a dead body through the airport, and Eve should probably be more horrified about that than she is.</p>
<p>“Please don’t tell me that’s one of the suitcases we still have.”</p>
<p>“What is that expression—a magician never reveals her secrets?” V gives her an over-the-top wink. “The point is, American TSA is <em>shit.</em>” Her lip curls up into an expression of disdain. “They are so massively arrogant. As if I could not easily bring enough materials to take down an airplane and—”</p>
<p>“O-kaaaay,” Eve interrupts, placing a hand on Villanelle’s arm. “How about we stop planning world domination and start getting ready for dinner?”</p>
<p>“I would be ready already if you had not refused to compliment my outfit,” the blonde pouts. “Really, Eve, you are awful for a girl’s confidence.”</p>
<p>“What you have isn’t confidence, it’s arrogance.” Eve rolls her eyes. “You don’t need my compliments inflating your ego even more.”</p>
<p>Villanelle considers this. “I know I am sexy, but it is still better when you say it.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure it is. Which is why I choose not to.”</p>
<p>“Who’s the dick now?”</p>
<p>“Still you. Put on your shirt and let’s <em>go</em>.”</p>
<p>“And they say <em>I </em>am the impatient one,” Villanelle huffs, unceremoniously pulling free of Eve’s arms, which are still draped around her neck. “Also, it is not just a shirt. There is the dress shirt, and the vest, and the jacket. Which you would know if you had any taste in clothing at all.”</p>
<p>Eve swats her on the arm. “Luckily for you, I use the space in my brain for <em>useful </em>information. Such as the time on our dinner reservation, which is in ten minutes.”</p>
<p>“Ah, Eve,” Villanelle sighs theatrically, “always so <em>responsible</em>.”</p>
<p>“Just put on your damn <em>shirt</em>,” she says pointedly, ignoring the exasperated face Villanelle is giving her, “and maybe if you’re lucky I’ll take it off you when we’re done with dinner.”</p>
<p>♠ ♦ ♣ ♥</p>
<p>Eve does indeed take that shirt (and the jacket, and the vest, and the bra) off of Villanelle when they get back to their suite that night, both of them pleasantly intoxicated. Neither of them had <em>meant </em>to drink quite so much, but it’s Vegas, and besides, people had kept sending drinks to Villanelle (<em>because she’s ridiculously beautiful,</em> Eve thinks) and who can refuse free drinks? So one drink had turned into… well, more; Eve hadn’t exactly been keeping count. Sometime around drink number four she’d draped herself over V’s lap to make sure <em>everyone </em>knew who the blonde belonged to, and then that had escalated into Eve’s hand surreptitiously making its way down the front of Villanelle’s pants (which had been difficult because <em>damn</em>, who knew tailored pants were so tight? Probably Villanelle, but Eve would not give her the satisfaction of asking.).</p>
<p>Needless to say, they hadn’t made it through dessert.</p>
<p>Villanelle practically throws Eve down on the bed the moment they get through the door, hiking her skirt up around her waist. Meanwhile, Eve’s hands make short work of the buttons on Villanelle’s vest and dress shirt, peeling the clothes off and discarding them recklessly on the floor. The fact that Villanelle doesn’t say a word about how wrinkled her nice new suit is likely to be in the morning is a sure indicator that she has other things on her mind.</p>
<p>And then she’s kneeling between Eve’s legs, one hand pulling roughly at Eve’s hair—it’s a real thing for her, Eve’s hair—with a look in her eye that makes Eve shiver in anticipation. Villanelle fingers the new pearl necklace where it lays against the hollow of Eve’s neck and then bends down to ghost her mouth over the skin there. Her teeth leave behind small red welts that Eve knows will linger a day or two. In the early days of their relationship, she’d used to use concealer and wear turtlenecks to cover them up; now, she doesn’t bother. She knows how much Villanelle likes to see the marks of her passion upon Eve’s body.</p>
<p>Villanelle’s hand makes its way down between her legs, but the fabric of Eve’s dress makes it too difficult, so eventually they decide that that needs to come off, too. Villanelle is painfully slow in pulling the zipper down—so slow, in fact, that Eve has to bite back an urgent plea for her to <em>hurry the fuck up</em>—but it’s worth it when her hands brush over every bit of newly exposed skin as she helps Eve step out of the mass of silky white fabric.</p>
<p>“You are so beautiful,” Villanelle breathes, and Eve has just enough time to place the look she sees in V’s eyes—<em>hunger</em>—before she finds herself flat on her back with her head on the pillows and her hands grasping desperately at the smooth white sheets.</p>
<p>Villanelle has always been a talented lover—<em>I know, </em>she’d said with an infuriating smirk after they’d had sex for the first time and Eve had told her how amazing she was—but tonight there is a feverish desperation to her movements that makes Eve’s head spin with pleasure. Her mind is incapable of forming a single coherent thought as Villanelle’s tongue works magic between her thighs, and she can’t help the sighs and moans and repetitions of <em>Villanelle, Villanelle </em>that fall from her lips. She had never used to be so vocal in bed, but then again, no one else had ever made her feel the way Villanelle does.</p>
<p>She’s been keyed up all evening, and Villanelle knows exactly the way to make Eve arch her back and buck her hips until she’s shaking under her hands, so it’s only a matter of time until the pleasure builds and builds and—</p>
<p>“Eve?” Villanelle says, pausing in her movements, and Eve groans and tries to push V’s head back down between her legs where it belongs. Unfortunately, Villanelle is as aggravating as always—<em>so fucking annoying</em>—and she refuses to budge, leaving Eve completely unsatisfied.</p>
<p>After a moment, Eve sighs, resigned to the fact that she’ll actually need to respond to her girlfriend before they can get back to the part where Villanelle makes her come so hard she forgets her own name. “What?”</p>
<p>“Let’s get married.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Here Come the Brides</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank y'all for the warm response to this one! I'm glad you have been enjoying it. It's been so nice to write something fluffy for these two.<br/>So without further ado, may I present: the wedding!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What, tonight?” Eve asks, all the gears in her mind slowly grinding to a halt at Villanelle’s words. V is still down between her legs, looking up at Eve with a ridiculous smile on her face, and Eve is <em>really </em>too drunk to be making these kinds of decisions right now.</p>
<p>“Yes, tonight.”</p>
<p>This is probably a bad idea. No, it’s <em>definitely </em>a bad idea, but the funny thing is, it’s not even like this is the craziest thing they have ever done. So honestly…</p>
<p>“Why not?” Once Eve says it out loud, she feels instantly lighter. She laughs. “We’re getting married!”</p>
<p>Villanelle springs up next to her on the bed, tackling Eve in an embrace that’s more sweet than sexy. V has many sides, but this is one of the ones Eve likes best—soft and affectionate and loving, without so much as a trace of the usual bravado she puts on even around the people she cares for most. Eve knows Villanelle is feeling safe when she’s like this, and it warms her heart to think that V is willing to let down her guard so completely for Eve. They’ve certainly come a long way since the very first time they’d shared a bed, which (of course) had ended in a lot less kissing and a lot more bloodshed.</p>
<p>Villanelle hums, low and close to her ear. “I can’t wait to call you my wife.”</p>
<p><em>Wife. </em>It’s a very real, solid sort of word, but Eve’s brain is having trouble comprehending real, solid things right now. She rolls it around on her tongue, rattles it through her brain like a marble clattering against the interior of her skull. Eve has never considered having a <em>wife </em>before. She has always been someone else’s wife—Niko’s wife, to be specific—and before Villanelle she’d always considered herself, well… straight. Heterosexual. Not into women. Not even women with beautiful catlike eyes and glowing skin and infuriatingly attractive smirks.</p>
<p>Even after they’d started dating, Eve had been reluctant to call Villanelle her ‘girlfriend.’ It felt like an oddly childish term—the sort of trivial word you’d use in grade school to refer to that girl you kissed once on a movie date and then awkwardly avoided thereafter. Whatever twisted, unconventional relationship she had with Villanelle defied classification, she’d thought, but then Villanelle had proudly introduced Eve as her girlfriend to a server at a restaurant. And it had just sounded too natural, too <em>normal </em>to avoid anymore. It had made Eve think for the first time that maybe they weren’t so different from any other couple after all.</p>
<p>And yet, she’s never considered actually <em>marrying </em>Villanelle. It’s just that V has never seemed the marrying type, even though it’s clear she’s in it for the long haul. Eve laughs for a moment, almost giddy, thinking of what Niko would say. She hasn’t thought of him for a long time, but it’s impossible not to in this moment; it’s hard not to compare all <em>this</em>—Vegas, Villanelle, silk sheets and pearl necklaces—to Niko’s proposal all those years ago.</p>
<p>The two moments couldn’t possibly be more different. Niko had been so nervous, poor thing; he’d planned it out for weeks and finally popped the question at some fancy restaurant that Eve can’t remember the name of. She’d loved him so much she hadn’t even cared that it was, well, <em>boring. </em>By contrast, Villanelle isn’t nervous at all, Eve doesn’t think V has ever really planned a thing in her life, and they’re half-naked in bed instead of at some upscale restaurant. It’s spontaneous and crazy and very, very <em>them, </em>and Eve suddenly finds that she likes the idea of being Villanelle’s wife far more than Niko’s.</p>
<p>“Get dressed,” Villanelle commands. She’s already rolling off Eve to hunt around for her clothing, which has been discarded across the carpeted floor at varying distances from the bed.</p>
<p>Eve does the same, pulling on her dress—she turns, and V zips it up for her—before heading into the bathroom to freshen up her hair and makeup. Sure enough, she has vestiges of lipstick and mascara smeared about the corners of her lips and eyes. She fluffs her hair and touches up the makeup before her eyes land on a silver gum wrapper that she’d left on the counter earlier. (Villanelle is always saying how Eve needs to be tidier. That, and more fashion forward.)</p>
<p>She picks up the unassuming wrapper, her fingers making quick work of the scrap of paper until she’s fashioned it into a neat little ring. It’s a technique she’d perfected during many hours of dull meetings and in between poring over mind-numbingly boring paperwork—apparently being a deskbound MI5 agent does have some perks, after all.</p>
<p>When she heads back out into the bedroom, Villanelle is already dressed in the blue tux again. She’s facing away from Eve, messing with something in her bag, and she jumps a little when Eve clears her throat to announce her arrival.</p>
<p>Eve is instantly suspicious. “What is that?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Villanelle says, a little too quickly for Eve’s liking.</p>
<p>She opens her mouth to say something, but Villanelle is already at her side, covering her eyes with a soft hand.</p>
<p>“Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”</p>
<p>Her tone is teasing, but Eve is not amused. How Villanelle has spent years being an untouchable assassin is incomprehensible to Eve, at least now that she knows her better. For all her faux accents and perfectly crafted personas, V is a pretty shit liar when it comes down to it. Maybe it’s just that Eve has become an expert at reading her—her former job <em>had </em>been to study Villanelle’s psyche, after all—but nothing gets past her anymore. She can smell Villanelle’s lies from a mile away, and there is definitely something fishy about whatever Villanelle has just been fiddling with. Her body language is much the same as that of a small child who has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.</p>
<p>“I swear to god, Villanelle, if this is another of—”</p>
<p>“Really, Eve. It’s not something you need to worry about.” The pleading look in Villanelle’s eyes convinces Eve to drop it. “This night is about us. Speaking of which, our limo is waiting downstairs.”</p>
<p>“Limo?” Eve feels her eyes widen, then instantly narrow in suspicion. “Wait. How did you order a limo on such short notice?”</p>
<p>Villanelle just shrugs. “The owner of the company owed me a favor,” she claims, and Eve thinks she really doesn’t want to know exactly <em>why </em>the favor is owed. Some things about her girlfriend—fiancée? is there even an engagement when you decide to get married in the middle of the night in Vegas?—are better left unknown.</p>
<p>Eve grabs a pack of gum on the way out the door, offering a piece to Villanelle (“What, are you trying to tell me I have bad breath? So rude!”) before popping one into her own mouth. She’s sure to save the wrapper, dropping it into her little purse alongside the first ring she’d folded, carefully stashed in a pocket so it won’t be squished.</p>
<p>When they get to the limo, Villanelle holds the door open for her with a silly little bow, then tucks herself in next to Eve and tells the driver their destination—A Little White Wedding Chapel. Yes, the one where such celebrities as Frank Sinatra and Britney Spears have gotten married.</p>
<p>Eve can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”</p>
<p>“I hope you are not having second thoughts, Eve, because then I might have to shoot you again.” The way Villanelle says it is characteristically cocky, but there is something vulnerable behind the words.</p>
<p>“No second thoughts,” Eve reassures her, kissing her cheek.</p>
<p>Villanelle positively glows. “This is already a <em>much </em>better marriage than the last one.”</p>
<p>“You can say that again,” Eve says, thinking of Niko, then pauses as something strikes her. “Wait. The last one?”</p>
<p>Villanelle only shrugs. “Do not worry, Eve. She was not as sexy as you are.”</p>
<p>Eve wants to be upset—the fact that V has been married before seems like a relevant thing she should have mentioned to her <em>girlfriend</em>, although it’s just like Villanelle to “forget” to tell her such an important detail—but Villanelle has hit the nail on the head, and the twist of a smirk on her lips tells Eve she knows it.</p>
<p>“What?” Villanelle says innocently. “We both know that was what you were wondering.”</p>
<p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” Eve growls, but she knows V is right.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t be offended, I did think you were dead at the time.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, because <em>you </em>shot me!”</p>
<p>“Tsk, tsk.” Villanelle is smirking now. “You are always ruining the moment. It is our <em>wedding night</em>, Eve. This is supposed to be romantic.”</p>
<p>“You know the saying ‘happy wife, happy life?’” Eve counters, and Villanelle nods. “Well, the way you’re headed, you’re about to have a <em>very </em>unhappy life.”</p>
<p>Villanelle just laughs, scooting closer to Eve on the long bench seat (this limo is really overkill when it’s just the two of them) and throwing an arm around her. Eve can’t help but relax into the embrace, leaning her head on Villanelle’s shoulder. It’s funny how safe this makes her feel. Even though the days of Villanelle trying to kill her are long past, V is still a very dangerous woman. Is it wrong that that fact has always turned Eve on rather than terrifying her? Probably. But it’s a little late for Eve to start caring about that now.</p>
<p>They both look out the windows for a while, watching the lights of the Strip flash by outside. Drunk crowds of tourists meander down the sidewalks, most of them stumbling over their own feet and letting out raucous peals of laughter. Everything is spectacularly gaudy and overdone—so much so that Villanelle is right, there <em>is</em> a sort of charm to it. The good, the bad, and the ugly are all on full display. If nothing else, Eve has to admit that Vegas is unabashedly proud of what it is.</p>
<p>She pulls the gum wrapper out of her purse and begins folding the second ring while Villanelle is distracted by a particularly sloppy bachelorette party. The bride-to-be is sobbing as she staggers down the street, supported by two of her friends who appear only slightly more sober. Villanelle rolls down the window, and they catch the hint of a wail as the bride bursts into a fresh bout of tears.</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s j-just… I love you guys sooooo much…”</em>
</p>
<p>Villanelle clicks her tongue in condescending pity. “<em>Boo-hoo. </em>Such a crybaby. It’s a miracle anyone wants to marry her.”</p>
<p>“Villanelle! Be nice.”</p>
<p>“Nice is for boring people.”</p>
<p>“Some people would say it’s a miracle anyone wants to marry <em>you</em>,” Eve points out, unable to help herself. Sometimes V really needs a taste of her own medicine.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, Villanelle pulls an offended face, eyes going wide and lips forming a perfect little <em>O</em> as if she is genuinely surprised that Eve would say such a thing. (Eve knows that she is not, in fact, surprised, nor even at all offended.)</p>
<p>“I am very beautiful,” she retorts. “Men would stick a ring on a pig if it were beautiful enough.” Her nose crinkles up as though she has smelled something awful before her expression brightens again. “Besides, <em>you</em> are marrying me.”</p>
<p>Eve laughs. “That <em>definitely </em>counts as a miracle.”</p>
<p>“No. I knew you would say yes,” Villanelle says smugly, giving Eve an up-and-down look that Eve is embarrassed to admit sends a shiver running through her body.</p>
<p>“Oh, really?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“Because,” Villanelle whispers, her voice suddenly low and intimate, “I am beautiful. And a <em>very </em>good lover.”</p>
<p>“Are you now?” She’s breathless, but she still has to at least pretend to resist. Eve does have <em>some </em>pride left, after all.</p>
<p>And then Villanelle is kneeling on the floor in front of her, pressed between Eve and the full-service bar that takes up most of the other half of the limousine. Her eyes are deep pools of an indeterminate color, pupils blown wide—whether that’s lust or the low lighting, Eve isn’t sure—as she stares, unblinking, as though undressing Eve with her eyes. Her hands creep up the insides of Eve’s thighs, ever so softly caressing the skin there. The movement almost tickles, it’s so light.</p>
<p>“Let me finish what I started earlier.”</p>
<p>Eve steals an uneasy glance up at the front, where a thin panel separates them from the driver. It’s supposed to be soundproof—<em>very discreet</em>, she’d been reassured—but she’s not sure she trusts that guarantee.</p>
<p>Villanelle must see her expression, because she takes the opportunity to slide her hands up even farther under Eve’s skirt.</p>
<p>“The driver? He doesn’t care.” Her grin is absolutely wicked. “Besides, you had no problem with this at dinner.”</p>
<p>Eve gives her a <em>look</em>. “Yeah, well, I’m a little more sober now.”</p>
<p>“Only a little, though, yes?” Villanelle asks hopefully.</p>
<p>“We’re gonna be at the chapel in less than ten minutes.”</p>
<p>Villanelle gives a dramatic little gasp. “I am hurt, Eve. You don’t think I can make you come in less than ten minutes?”</p>
<p>“<em>Villanelle</em>.”</p>
<p>“You know I’m right,” she purrs, and then Eve’s throwing her head back as Villanelle’s hands slide between her legs for real this time.</p>
<p>Any thought of protest is forgotten as she grasps Villanelle’s shoulders, leaning her head back against the top of the seat and thinking she is <em>very </em>grateful for tinted windows and soundproof partitions. Villanelle, of course, isn’t wrong about her skills. She has Eve panting and gasping her name before long, and when Villanelle rejoins her on the bench, Eve collapses bonelessly into her arms.</p>
<p>“I hate you,” she murmurs, and V just smiles.</p>
<p>By the time they pull up outside the chapel, with its iconic “24 HR DRIVE UP WEDDING WINDOW” sign, Eve has managed to rearrange her dress so that she looks mostly respectable. Villanelle is sipping a glass of champagne, which Eve had declined in the interest of not being totally hungover in the morning, and that’s how the driver finds them when he opens the door: sitting an unsuspicious distance apart, relaxed and happy and looking like they totally hadn’t just had sex in the back of his limo. Nope, definitely not. Nothing to see here.</p>
<p>He holds the door open for them as they step out hand in hand, and actually standing in front of the chapel fills Eve with a heady feeling that’s at least as much fear as it is excitement. For the first time, she feels a wave of doubt rush over her. This is so uncharacteristic of her. Eve is the sort of person who takes her time thinking things through, who has to be sure before she commits. In other words, she is exactly the opposite of the sort of person who makes the spur-of-the-moment decision to get married in Las Vegas to a woman who had once shot her and left her for dead.</p>
<p>Has Eve changed? Or is this who she has always been, and she’s only now realizing it? It’s a crisis of identity she’s had before; everything having to do with Villanelle brings out this side of her. It’s thrilling but terrifying, how uninhibited she is when they are together. So far, she’s managed to keep the bad decisions to a minimum. Sure, there have been the questionable moments—like killing Dasha, or that time she’d let V talk her into stealing from an international drug cartel and they’d had to shoot some guards to make it out alive—but for the most part, she’s been able to handle it. But marrying Villanelle is <em>real </em>and scary, and it has the potential to change everything.</p>
<p>She turns to Villanelle, about to voice her doubts, but the words die on her lips when she sees the way the blonde is looking at her. Villanelle is smiling gently, her features lit by the soft glow of the chapel signs, a few strands of hair blowing around her face in the slight desert breeze. Not only does she look confident and happy and drop-dead gorgeous standing there in her tailored blue tux, she looks absolutely peaceful. <em>Serene </em>is not a word Eve would associate with Villanelle, but it fits her now, and Eve is suddenly sure this is the right decision.</p>
<p>She squeezes V’s hand, and together they step inside.</p>
<p>♠ ♦ ♣ ♥</p>
<p>As it turns out, getting married in Vegas is <em>not </em>as easy as the movies would have you believe. They are informed that they need a marriage license, and have to take a long and boring trip to the Clark County Marriage Bureau (“<em>very </em>unsexy,” Villanelle says disapprovingly), which, as it turns out, requires valid ID. So Eve realizes she’s about to be marrying one “Sylviana Morel,” which she supposes isn’t terrible as far as Villanelle’s aliases go. (“Better Sylviana than Billie,” Eve shrugs, “Billie was kind of a bitch.”)</p>
<p>By the time they get back to the chapel, it’s past midnight and they’ve each downed two more glasses of champagne in the limo on the way. Eve thinks she might back out of this whole thing if she’s not at least a little buzzed, which is why she hadn’t declined Villanelle’s offer this time. The limo driver looks extremely done with their bullshit, giving them a reproachful look as they exit the car for the third time that night. (The <em>audacity. </em>They hadn’t even had sex in the back of the limo this time.)</p>
<p>And then, with startling abruptness, it’s actually happening.</p>
<p>The interior of the chapel is small, with a faint odor of casino smoke that can’t quite be masked by whatever floral scent they have piping in through the air vents. The entire space is brightly lit, fake sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass windows that do not convince Eve for even a single second that this is a classy church. It’s very Vegas and not at all fancy, but frankly, Eve’s just glad they’re not being married by an Elvis impersonator. (Yes, that’s a real option they’d been offered when they’d walked through the front doors.) Despite the setting, there’s something about seeing Villanelle standing at the end of that aisle that sends a little jolt of happiness right through Eve’s heart.</p>
<p>The ceremony is very quick and no fuss—since there are no guests, Villanelle tells the minister to skip over most of the “sappy stuff,” as she puts it. It’s just Eve and Villanelle, standing across from each other and looking into one another’s eyes.</p>
<p>They tune out the words—neither of them cares much for the religious mumbo-jumbo, although there’s something comforting in the mundanity of the scripted ceremony—until the minister breaks from stuffy formality for a moment to ask, “Have you prepared vows, or are you going with the standard ones?”</p>
<p>“Standard ones,” Eve says, just as Villanelle says, “I wrote mine.”</p>
<p>Eve looks over at Villanelle, surprised. “When on earth did you have time to do that?”</p>
<p>“What, are you worried yours will not be as good as mine?” V manages to avoid the question entirely.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, considering I didn’t know we were writing any.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you can make it up to me later,” Villanelle hums, leaning in closer to ghost her lips over Eve’s.</p>
<p>Eve feels herself falling into the depths of V’s eyes—that is, until the minister clears his throat.</p>
<p>“Traditionally, you’re supposed to wait until <em>after </em>I pronounce you married to kiss the bride.”</p>
<p>If looks could kill, the poor minister would be flat on the floor after the sharp gaze Villanelle gives him. “We are not a very <em>traditional</em> couple.”</p>
<p>“I can see that,” Eve thinks she hears the poor man mutter, before he straightens himself up into a professional stance once more. “The brides will now read their prepared vows.”</p>
<p>“Eve,” Villanelle says, and the way she says it sends a shiver running down Eve’s spine. “I do not think <em>anyone </em>who knows us would have thought this is where we’d end up.”</p>
<p>“You think?” Eve can’t help but interject, and Villanelle rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>“<em>Eve. </em>You’re not supposed to interrupt during wedding vows. Right?” V looks to the harried minister for support and looks smug when he nods. “<em>Anyway, </em>Eve, if you’re finished talking…”</p>
<p>Eve sighs. “No more interruptions, I promise.”</p>
<p>“Good.” Villanelle pauses. “I didn’t write this down, but I have been thinking about it a lot. Just so you know.” She bites her lip, looking almost nervous. “I don’t know what it is that first drew me to you—well, that’s a lie, I do know, it was your hair—but I know that meeting you has changed me. You are the one person I can never hate, even when you do the <em>stupidest </em>things. Like that time you stabbed me in Paris.”</p>
<p>The minister looks puzzled, as if unsure whether V is joking or not, and honestly, Eve can’t blame him. But Villanelle continues before he has the opportunity to think too hard about it.</p>
<p>“In Rome, I was wrong. I understand now that love means choosing each other, and I promise that I will choose you for the rest of my life. Even though you do not know how to take a joke and you have the <em>worst </em>fashion sense of any person I have ever met.” Villanelle wrinkles her nose, then sighs. “I love you.”</p>
<p>Eve feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as the minister turns to her and she clears her throat, feeling suddenly insecure. How is she supposed to follow up what Villanelle has just said? There had been something unabashedly honest about the blonde’s vows, devoid of her usual snark and cockiness. Eve wants to say something profound, but she’s not sure she has the vocabulary she needs. Articulating her feelings isn’t exactly Eve’s strong suit.</p>
<p>“Villanelle,” she starts, haltingly at first. “I’m, uh… I’m just as surprised as you are that we’re standing here right now. But… I know I won’t regret this when we wake up tomorrow and I get to call you my wife.”</p>
<p>There’s something empowering about actually saying the word, especially when Eve sees the little glimmer of light that flashes behind Villanelle’s eyes when she says it. She takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling far more confident. Villanelle isn’t expecting anything flashy or poetic—all she has ever wanted is Eve’s honesty. In this moment, that’s something Eve has no problem giving to her.</p>
<p>“You’ve changed my life, some people would say for the worse, but I don’t think I could ever take it back. Even though you drive me crazy sometimes—well, a lot of the time,” she amends, and laughs. “Even with that, you make me excited to wake up and start each day.”</p>
<p>“<em>And</em> I am very sexy,” Villanelle cuts in cheekily, and Eve smacks her lightly on the arm. “You are a very lucky woman.”</p>
<p>“And here you told <em>me </em>I was being rude by interrupting.”</p>
<p>V pulls her best wounded face. “Ouch!”</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up and let me tell you how much I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you, too.”</p>
<p>The minister clears his throat, interrupting their moment. “May I have the rings, please?”</p>
<p>Villanelle opens her mouth, probably to tell him they hadn’t exactly planned this enough to have had the foresight to buy rings, but Eve reaches out and places a hand on her arm.</p>
<p>“Here,” she says, pulling the little folded rings out of her purse and holding them out to the minister.</p>
<p>“Gum wrappers? Really, Eve?” Villanelle teases, but her eyes are warm and almost teary when she looks at the (only slightly crumpled) paper rings in Eve’s outstretched hand.</p>
<p>The minister takes them without question—he’s probably seen much weirder things, Eve realizes—and turns to Villanelle.</p>
<p>“Do you, Villanelle, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” (Thankfully, they had been able to convince the minister to use the “nickname” Villanelle instead of Sylviana Morel.)</p>
<p>“I do,” Villanelle says without hesitation.</p>
<p>“Do you promise to love and cherish her, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>The minister turns to Eve. “And do you, Eve Polastri, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”</p>
<p>“I do,” she says, feeling a little thrill shoot through her at the words. She can’t help but grin at Villanelle, her smile wide and giddy, head spinning.</p>
<p>“Do you promise to love and cherish her, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>If anyone can fulfill these vows, it is the two of them. They’ve already survived each other—if that’s not the definition of “for better or for worse,” Eve doesn’t know what is.</p>
<p>“Then please repeat after me,” the minister says, handing one of the rings to Villanelle. “With this ring, I thee wed.”</p>
<p>“With this ring, I thee wed,” Villanelle repeats, sliding the paper ring onto Eve’s finger.</p>
<p>“And you, Ms. Polastri.” The minister gives her one of the rings, and she takes Villanelle’s hand. “With this ring, I thee wed.”</p>
<p>Eve gives V’s hand a little squeeze. “With this ring, I thee wed.”</p>
<p>“By the power of your love and commitment, and the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wife and wife.” The minister looks relieved to be done with them, frankly. “You may now kiss the bride.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t have to say it twice. Villanelle sweeps Eve off her feet into a <em>very </em>ostentatious kiss that is probably making the minister extremely uncomfortable, but Eve doesn’t have the good sense to care. She just lets herself get lost in the sensation: the softness of Villanelle’s lips sliding against her own, the smooth fabric of V’s suit under her hands where Eve grasps her shoulders, the slight press of Villanelle’s body against hers. It’s definitely not a “church kiss”—there’s a bit too much tongue involved for that—but it’s every bit as romantic as Eve had hoped it would be.</p>
<p>When they break apart, Eve gives the minister a firm handshake for the sake of propriety. Villanelle just smirks at the poor guy (Eve feels rather sorry for him), and then she takes Eve’s left hand, careful not to squish the paper ring on her finger. Seeing their hands intertwined like that brings a fresh wave of butterflies to Eve’s stomach, and she stands on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Villanelle’s cheek. To her <em>wife’s </em>cheek.</p>
<p>It’s almost unbelievable how happy that thought makes her.</p>
<p>♠ ♦ ♣ ♥</p>
<p>Eve feels like she’s floating all the way back to the hotel, dizzy from adrenaline mixed with alcohol mixed with that particular brand of exhilaration that Villanelle makes her feel. She finds herself watching the expressions of all the strangers they pass, half-wondering if they can tell just by looking that she’s newly married. It feels like the sort of thing that should be written across her face, but the other patrons of the hotel are far too wrapped up in their own dramas to care.</p>
<p>When they get back to their room, Eve takes off Villanelle’s suit for the second time that night. This time, however, she goes slowly, removing each piece of clothing (dress shirt, vest, jacket, and all) in lazy, unhurried motions. They have their whole lives ahead of them to do this, after all.</p>
<p>Villanelle complains, but Eve can tell she’s secretly enjoying it. Much as she may fancy herself a tough-as-nails assassin, Villanelle likes to be taken care of, too. Underneath her luxury clothing and sarcastic quips lies an intense vulnerability that only comes out in moments like these.</p>
<p>Once she’s fully undressed her <em>wife </em>(it sends a little thrill through her every time she thinks of the word), Eve traces over the little scar on Villanelle’s abdomen, the only remaining mark of that fateful day in Paris. In the most literal sense, they both bear the mark of the other’s, well… not love, exactly, but passion. She takes a moment, lingering over the scar, pressing gentle kisses to the skin there until Villanelle squirms.</p>
<p>“Come <em>on</em>, Eve,” she says at last, and her impatience makes Eve laugh.</p>
<p>Stepping out of her own dress, she settles herself on top of Villanelle, kissing her until she can’t complain any more. It’s a powerful feeling to have Villanelle underneath her like this, completely at her mercy. That’s something different about being with a woman—even when Eve had been on top of Niko, it had never felt like this. There’s something about looking down at Villanelle, about seeing the microexpressions of pleasure that flit across her features, that is so intensely gratifying.</p>
<p>It’s not a power thing, not really. Maybe it had been in the beginning, when they’d had a lot of rough sex to work out all the pent-up anger of all the wrongs they’d done each other, but not anymore. Now, it is an exercise in trust. Villanelle gives herself to Eve completely, and Eve thinks that is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.</p>
<p>They lay together afterward, pleasantly sweaty between the sheets, both of them breathing hard. Villanelle curls herself around Eve, nuzzling her head into the crook of her neck.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, wife.”</p>
<p>Eve can’t help but smile. “Promise you won’t murder me in my sleep?”</p>
<p>Villanelle hums, pretending to consider it. She kisses the side of Eve’s neck, nipping gently with her teeth. “No guarantees.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If y'all are interested, <a href="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/2229/6151/products/PW128A_1024x1024.jpg?v=1571709000">this</a> is what I imagined for Eve's dress, <a href="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1134/5488/products/E0A0013_Resized_480x.jpg?v=1582072409">this</a> is V's tux, and <a href="https://www.redtedart.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Easy-Origami-Ring.jpg">these</a> are the rings (only silver, as they're made of gum wrappers). I wish I could draw them, but I have zero talent in that department, so you'll just have to use your imaginations!<br/>Also, I've made up my mind. This story will have three chapters and an epilogue. I may go back and write some of the events leading up to this fic as one-shots or shorter multi-chapter ficlets, if people are interested.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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